


Breath Of Diana

by EffingEden



Series: Gift Of Diana [1]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roman, Celts, M/M, Master/Slave, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-27
Updated: 2010-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:03:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffingEden/pseuds/EffingEden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble based on a prompt on the LJ comm Wallporn - Roman General!Alex and Celtic!Michael</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breath Of Diana

Sometimes, Alexander felt bad for taking the slave away from his people and Gods, but it passed. His goddess, Diana, had willed it to be. The Huntress had led Alexander to the place where the mystic performed rites, had stayed his hand from the killing blow when he saw the markings.

The blue whorls on the mystic’s skin were nothing like the tattoos Alexander was use to. Not the brands marking slave flesh, or disfiguring marks warning of a criminal. No, these tattoos were elegant in their crude forms. It was like Diana had breathed across his slave’s skin, leaving her thoughts and dreams scribed onto his body. Every night, Alexander would look at them, try to read what was written there in the designs. It didn’t take long to memorise it, saw it in the darkness behind his eyelids.

His mystic allowed Alexander to admire him, not protesting in word or flinch. He endured it, at first. After Alexander began to trace over the tattoo with fingers and tongue, the blue-tattooed youth would plead in his strange, lyrical tongue, lifting into the touch when Alexander pulled away. Then, his slave would surprise him, using Greek he’d picked up from Alex and Latin from the other slaves. The words were not in the right order, the right syntax or tense – but they all conveyed need, want, urgency. Hearing familiar words in his mystic’s lilting, oddly paced tone stirred in him great pleasure. Alexander would correct him, refusing to continue until he repeated it correctly before rewarding him thoroughly.

It wasn’t a breaking; there was something that couldn’t be shattered in the slave’s gaze. It was an understanding that was slow in the forming, their only common language one of the body, of movement and sweat and pleasure. It wasn’t enough. Alexander was determined to find time to teach his mystic to speak some Latin so he could understand the words behind the boy’s eyes. As for the tattoo, he would read it over and over again, learning each new meaning through touch until he understood completely.


End file.
